


Shatter

by nostalgicmemories (Iolaire02)



Category: Original Work
Genre: POV Second Person, Stream of Consciousness, Why Did I Write This?, this belongs in a trash can
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26512417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iolaire02/pseuds/nostalgicmemories
Summary: When the moon shines upon the landscape, the monsters come out, and they have teeth that are far sharper than yours.





	Shatter

Swallow. 

Your eyes burn with tears. 

Your lungs feel crushed. 

(Breathe in).

Your heart feels empty. 

(Count: One).

Your limbs are numb. 

(Two).

Your thoughts fly through your head like torrential rain. 

(Three).

The night air seeps through your skin to settle deep within your bones.

(Breath out).

You can feel the snow flying through the air, and it's sharp, cutting your frozen cheeks. 

(There's no blood, and you think maybe it's frozen, too.)

You want to scream, but you know that as soon as you open your mouth, you'll drown in... something. Maybe you'll drown in the very air you breathe. 

It's so cold, and it's not that clear cold you get in mid winter on a starry night. It's a bitter, unforgiving whirlwind of _youhurtmesoI'llhurtyou_ , and you're almost choking on it. 

The pressure from the storm is painful, and you can't tell which it is that hurts more, the one inside your body, inside your _head_ , or the one outside that's swirling through the air, and throwing itself at the trees, and having nothing to do with rainbows.

You find that you want to join it, to release your rage, to break something. But you tell yourself you have self control, and you're too numb and too broken to do anything but sit in this snow bank with your knees pulled up to your chest as the wind and snow tear at your skin. 

(You're too shattered to care).

Somehow, you make it through the night, and in the morning, the sky is a clear, watery blue, and the sun shines so brightly you can see its beams hanging in the particles of the cool, crisp air. 

It looks beautiful, but it's not that warm, bright beauty. It's a cold, harsh kind that makes the trees seem stark against the gray sky. 

It looks beautiful, but you know better. You know how broken it is when the sun goes down, and the only source of light is that of the cold, harsh moon. And when the sun is up, everything seems to fit together. 

When the sun goes down, and the moon shines upon the landscape? That's when the monsters come out, their teeth sharp and bared in a hungry grin. That's when the shadows become dark and dangerous. When the sun goes down, the world shatters, the earth cries, and when that warm light comes back, the earth sticks itself back together; it paints the broken shards of itself back together with golden light, and it covers up its flaws with conspicuity, colors its cracks in so that it’s more beautiful than it ever was before it broke. Shattered. Died.

(You'd never see it if you weren't watching).

You'd never notice that not all is as it seems. It's not as beautiful or sparkling as it looks in the light of day. 

You wouldn't have to force yourself to breathe. You wouldn't have to remind yourself to swallow, or to wet your dry mouth. You wouldn't have to remember to blink away the tears burning your eyes.

(You'd never have to force yourself to run).

If you pretend, if you stay blind, you'd notice that the sun is shining, and the air is crisp and cool and clear. You can see the trees, dark against the pale blue-gray sky, and the snow blanketing the branches and ground. You can see it dancing, shimmering in the air. You can hear the birds chirping, and water rushing over the rocks in the stream bed. The land around you smells like fire and pine. It smells cold. 

If you look closely, you'd notice that not everything is as perfect as it seems. You'd notice how everything seems to be in black and white, and you'd notice how the air's coldness is almost painful. You'd see your breath puffing in the air in front of you, and you'd notice that the air isn't as clear as it seems. There's barely a difference between the air and your breath. The snow would seem almost grey, certainly not as beautiful as you imagine it should be. You'd hear your ragged breathing from running all night, and you might hear far off cries. And beneath the scents of fire and pine and cold, you'd smell rot. And you'd wonder what happened to make this place so broken. 

If you notice all this, if you actually look, you'll be running; you'll trying to survive in this broken, shattered world, where everyone's out to get you, and there is pain and misery nipping at your heels like they're particularly hungry, and you're out to get everyone, too.

If you don’t notice, if you refuse to look, or turn a blind eye, if you pretend everything is perfect, you will live until you are caught by surprise.


End file.
